


Spin a Web of Silk

by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)



Series: Steter Bingo 2018 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fem Steter, Female Peter Hale, Female Stiles Stilinski, Gun Violence, Murder, Murder Wives, Steter Bingo 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 17:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/pseuds/twothumbsandnostakeincanon
Summary: “Darling, will you marry me?”Stiles stared into the eyes of the light of her life, the one who held her heart- her love.And then she looked back at the man who had asked the question.“Yes.”





	Spin a Web of Silk

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea like four months ago for Steter Bingo and then did absolutely nothing with it until this morning. I'm probably not going to hit Bingo before the 25th because I'm back in school, but I have at least one other ficlet for the gen board! 
> 
> Anyway, this is for the "Murder Husbands" square, except that I changed it to murder wives.

“Darling, will you marry me?”

Stiles stared into the eyes of the light of her life, the one who held her heart- her love.

And then she looked back at the man who had asked the question.

“Yes.”

* * *

The wedding was glorious, all white lace and delicate blooms.

Stiles and Quentin gave their vows in an arching cathedral, with God and 800 guests as their witness.

Stiles was incandescent in her bridal gown, demure yet radiant. She drew the eye of everyone at the reception, even as she was off to the side, head bowed in quiet conversation. Quentin’s best man, however, was looking at her conversation partner.

“Who’s the MILF?” he asked, grabbing another flute of champagne.

Quentin shrugged, eyeing up another one of the guests. He thought she was probably 18, or close enough. He shot her a smile.

“Stiles calls her Peter,” he answered, finally looking back at his best man. “Some family friend she’s known forever, they’re practically glued together most of the time. Don’t really know her, but she keeps Stiles occupied when I’m working late so whatever.”

“Like… ‘occupied’?” the best man said suggestively.

Quentin shot him a cold look.

“Stiles doesn’t need to go looking anywhere for that kind of distraction,” he said shortly. “She gets everything she needs from me.”

The best man held up his hands in defense.

“Hey dude, I didn’t mean to say- just, sorry man. I’m just saying that Peter chick is super hot.” He frowned. “What kinda lady goes by the name ‘Peter’ anyway?”

Quentin replied with a distracted hum, going back to mostly ignoring him. He was considering going over to talk to the (at the youngest, 16 year old) girl, when Carlson, his business partner, hurried up to him.

“Congratulations, Quen!” he said loudly, shaking his hand and pulling him forward into a hug. Mouth at his ear, he whispered, “The investors found out. We need to purge the documents immediately.”

Quentin’s back went ramrod straight, a frisson of fear running through him.

“Get to the office,” he hissed. “I’ll make excuses here and meet you there.”

Carlson nodded once and slunk toward the exit. Quentin snatched his best man’s champagne and threw it back before abandoning the glass on a random table as he hurried toward Stiles.

He placed a possessive hand on her back, drawing her from her conversation with Peter.

“Oh! Is it time for our dance?” she asked, startled wide brown eyes looking across the reception hall and then back at him with mild confusion.

“I’m afraid there’s been an emergency at the office,” he said, honestly regretful that he wouldn’t be getting the chance to take her soft curves to bed tonight, but more concerned with the lifetime of prison he’d be getting if he didn’t get to the office immediately. “You know I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t absolutely have to.”

Stiles’ expressive face crumbled.

“What about our honeymoon? Quen, we’re supposed to leave right after this!”

“We can reschedule,” he told her sternly. “This company is my life’s work, Sugar. You don’t expect me to throw that away for a vacation, do you?”

“Oh… no, of course not,” she said quietly. “You go do what you need to, I’ll take care of everything here.”

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her new ring.

“See, that’s why I married you.” He drew her in for another kiss before pulling away. He glanced at Peter, nodding distractedly in her direction before hurrying out.

Peter and Stiles watched his retreating form without a word to each other, Peter’s hand quietly reaching out to cover the place on Stiles’ back that Quentin had touched.

Somehow, her hand burned hotter.

* * *

“Shred ‘em all. Every single one of them,” Quentin yelled through his office door hours later.

“What about the New Dehli papers?” Carlson yelled back.

“What did I fuckin say! All of them!!” He fed another stack into the shredder, willing it to work faster. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself. Paper documentation was harder to steal than electronic data, but if this was the flip side of that then like hell was it worth it-

Quentin’s head snapped up to look at his office door when he heard a strangled yelp over the sound of the shredder. He paused it, silently stepping away to see what was going on in the outer office.

The room was empty. Carlson was gone.

“Bastard,” Quentin hissed to himself. He’d been abandoned. Well fuck him. Quentin would take care of his coward ass when he was done here-

A reflection on the floor caught his eye. He looked closer.

Blood.

A pool of blood, growing larger every second.

Quentin slowly walked forward, dread filling him as he got closer.

There, around one bank of desks, lay Carlson’s body with two gunshot wounds to the chest.

Quentin recoiled, stumbling back, looking wildly around the empty outer office. He turned, slipping a little on the blood and bruising himself as he scrambled to get back to his office and lock the door.

Breathing harshly, he gripped his hair with both hands, running through the possible scenarios. Who could have done this, what did he do now, why, why, _why-_

“Hello Quentin.”

Quentin looked up in shock. Out of a shadowy corner of the office, a figure stepped forward.

Peter.

She shook her head, tutting at the sight of piles of documents next to the shredder.

“Someone’s been a naughty boy,” she sing-songed.

Rage suddenly boiled up in Quentin.

“You fucking killed him!” he yelled. “You killed Carlson, you psycho bitch!”

“Well name calling is just unnecessary. I’m only doing the same as you. Cleaning up. Finishing a project. It’s nothing personal.”

“What the hell do you want, you cunt?!” he screamed, impotent in his terrified anger.

“ _'_ _Psycho bitch, cunt.’_ ” Peter sighed. “Honestly Quentin, would it kill you to use a little creativity? I can’t believe Stiles has managed to put up with your bland nonsense for the last year.”

“Stiles. Is that why you’re here? What, you don’t think I’m good enough for her or some shit?” he said aggressively. He froze when Peter started to move, but she headed toward one of the filing cabinets.

“Oh Quen,” she said condescendingly. “The question is not whether the pig is _good_ enough to be eaten, but whether he’s _fat_ enough to be eaten.” She opened a drawer, flicking through tabs before pulling out a folder and to look through it. She chuckled. “You really don’t check your paperwork before signing it, do you?”

“What?” Quentin squinted as he tried to see what was on the paper.

“The life insurance, Quen. The upped policy that names Stiles the beneficiary?” Peter waved the paper. “You signed this after you’d only been dating for three weeks.”

Quentin’s mouth hung open.

“Not a very good business practice. You should always thoroughly read what you’re signing.”

Cold fear trickled down his spine.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Quentin insisted, beginning to slowly back toward the door. “What, you think- you think you’ll kill me and then get Stiles to share the insurance money with you?”

“Oh no, not at all. I’m not going to kill you.”

Quentin stopped, looking at her incredulously.

Peter leaned forward a little, a conspiratorial look on her face.

“Tell me Quentin. If I shot Carlson, where’s my gun?”

Quentin’s eyes darted around. There was no weapon visible, certainly nothing with the silencer that would’ve been used to shoot Carlson. He immediately turned on his heel to run. He grabbed his office door and scrambled to unlock it, glancing behind himself at Peter who was just standing there. He got the door unlocked, swung it open-

To be greeted by his bride, a gun, and two bullets straight to the brain.

Stiles stepped over his body as it lay cooling on the floor.

“See? I told you he’d sign it. I bet he didn’t even look at the header, the moron,” she said, disassembling the gun from the silencer.

“Yes, yes, you were right dear,” Peter said with an affectionate grin. Stiles smiled back and leaned in to kiss her. Peter hummed into the kiss. She pulled back just far enough for Stiles to see her dilated pupils. “God I love watching you use a gun.”

Stiles smirked.

“Well then we better finish up here so we can indulge that little gun kink of yours.” She brought the still warm barrel of the gun up to run down the side of Peter’s throat. Peter bit back a moan with a breathy sound, but Stiles’s heated stare said she heard it just the same.

She tucked away the gun and the silencer and went to the computer to check the security feeds.

“We’re still good. Let’s get out of here. I still have ten thousand bobby pins from the updo for the ceremony, and I want them _out.”_

“Aw, poor baby,” Peter teased, but she reached up to gently massage the base of Stiles’ skull, drawing out a relieved sigh. Peter checked her watch, counting down the seconds between security guard rounds. “What time do you think they’ll be found?”

Stiles, still leaning into Peter’s hand, said, “Probably around six. That gives us a few hours to sleep before we hear the ‘bad news.’

Peter nodded, tapping the last few seconds down on Stiles’ skull.

“Okay, let’s go.”

* * *

“H-how could- how could this _happen?”_ she sobbed into her hands.

“We’re looking into it,” the detective said consolingly. “We think it’s probably related to his company. Did your husband ever tell you about any business enemies? Had anyone made threats?”

“N-no,” Stiles’ breath hitched as she tried to speak normally. “He didn’t- I don’t have much of a mind for business. He tried to explain things a few times, but- oh God, why didn’t I listen?” She sobbed even harder.

The detective looked at her with pity, and shot a supportive glance at the older woman rubbing comforting circles into the young bride’s back.

“I’m afraid the media’s going to be all over this,” he said regretfully. “You may want to consider getting out of town for a while. Maybe go stay with some family?”

Stiles sniffed into a tissue, wiping her red eyes again.

“I- I-” She took a shuddering breath. “I don’t have anyone left. It was just my father and I until he passed four years ago.”

The detective grimaced.

“What about a vacation? Maybe there’s somewhere you could go to get your mind off things.”

“Darling,” Peter said quietly. “We’re already holding the tickets for your… trip that you were going to take. We could change it to Europe instead of the Virgin Islands. You’ve always wanted to visit Florence.”

Stiles held her silence for a moment, and then she sniffed again and nodded.

The detective breathed a sigh of relief. He simply couldn’t dedicate a force to keeping the media away from her, so it was good to know she’d be taken care of away from all that.

“Come on, dear.” Peter helped her off the couch. “Let’s go pack. Do you mind seeing yourself out, Detective?”

“No problem.”

The detective watched the beautiful young bride slowly walk up the stairs, leaning on her friend.

How lucky that she had someone to lean on.

* * *

_Three Months Later_

Peter and Stiles sat in a café, drinking coffee and sharing a pastry, sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“You know, Florence is pretty great,” Stiles said. “I wouldn’t be upset if we stayed here for a while.”

“Is that so, sweetheart?” Peter said, brushing Stiles’ hair back and pressing a kiss to her neck. Stiles tilted her head to allow for more room, humming pleasantly.

“Yeah. I bet we could find work easily enough.”

“We always find work easily enough,” Peter said with a small laugh, pressing more kisses down her neck toward her shoulder. “We have time though. At least another three months before we would need to start in earnest.”

“Of course, love. But it never hurts to spot potential clients early.” Stiles tilted her head back, subtly indicating that Peter should look to their right.

“For instance…” she trailed off with a raised eyebrow.

Tweed jacket, greying at the temples, wearing a Breguet watch. A very, very nice Breguet watch.

“What do you think?” Stiles asked in a lowered tone.

Peter smiled.

“Perhaps it’s time to cast off the mourning veil, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> God I just fucking love murderous gay ladies. It's just *clenches fist* YES.


End file.
